


How to fall in love with Draco Malfoy

by redpotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, EWE, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpotter/pseuds/redpotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/01/11/fashion/no-37-big-wedding-or-small.html">study</a> there are 36 questions to make two people fall in love with each other. I decided to try them out with Harry and Draco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to ignore the amatonormativity implied on this study, and make it about harry and draco instead. it's just about two silly boys that fall in love with each other slowly, but it's so right that it seems like they're just falling into place.  
> this is softer, fluffier and less-angsty than my usual writing. i hope you like it!!

Harry would have thought that sharing a room with Draco Malfoy would be a nightmare, but it is nothing like that. The other boy is quiet and keeps his things neat – and never complains about the fact that Harry doesn’t. He doesn’t bother Harry with anything other than normal questions, like asking if he had done his Transfiguration work or if he has a spare quill to lend.

Their room is nice, with two four poster beds, two tables and a couch with two places that face their fireplace. They take turns, that are silently arranged, when going on the couch, however.

It is mid-October when Draco raises his eyes from his parchment and asks Harry, with a very serious voice.

“Do you like being famous, Potter?” He says. Harry takes a while trying to figure out if that had really happened or if it was just his imagination, but as Malfoy raises an eyebrow he realizes that he’d better answer.

“Er,” He answers. “Not really. I don’t mind when people praise me on Quidditch because that’s something that I really work hard on and love, but when it comes to defeating Voldemort I feel very uncomfortable. I didn’t do it alone and I didn’t do anything that someone else couldn’t have done. I just happened to be lucky, if you want to call that luck, on being the first person that Voldemort failed to kill.”

Malfoy studies Harry with his very grey eyes, he keeps catching his lower lip with his teeth and then releasing it slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“I loved when I got at least half of the attention that you had. I really wanted to be admired, and praised, feared and loved.” He says, though he seemed to be saying that more to himself than to Harry, “I feel that that was very foolish.”

“Yeah, nowadays you seem like you’d rather disappear than have the attention of another human being.” Harry blurts out without thinking, and Malfoy’s eyes are scared when he looks away.

Harry had been watching him, trying to understand him in the last month. He doesn’t know why, but there is something odd about a Malfoy that doesn’t like to boost out his own name and how wonderful he and his family are all the time. Harry realizes that when Malfoy stopped talking, somehow his actions grew louder and he seemed different somehow. Like he had never been that bad.

They don’t speak again during that day, Harry reasons that he had scared Malfoy off by almost admitting that he had been watching him. In the next day, Harry decides it was his turn to ask a question and that was what he does when Draco is reading a book on the couch and Harry is finishing his Charms work.

“Do you ever think of how would the perfect day be?” He asks.

At first, Malfoy doesn’t answer, but his breath grows quicker and Harry can’t hear the frenetic page-turning anymore.

“It would be quiet,” Malfoy answers at last. “And there would be nothing to be regretted. There would be smiles, real smiles, those ones that people give each other because they want to, and not because they have to.”

 Harry takes a while to answer back, but he knows that Malfoy is also hanging on to the silence he left. He has to answer how would his perfect day be, but he thought that Malfoy had already answered that for him.

“Mine would be like that too,” He sighs. “Except that it would involve just a tiny bit of Quidditch.”

Malfoy laughs and his laugh takes the whole room, it’s full and real but it only lasts a few seconds, because then he goes back to his book. Harry smiles to himself and they keep living on that ideal quietness.

Just before they are ready to sleep, Malfoy turns around and asks, his expression serious.

“Now that you have died and _he_ is gone and cannot kill you anymore, how do you think you will die?”

“I always thought he’d be the one to kill me.” Harry answers. “But now I don’t know.”

“I thought he’d be the one to kill me too.” Malfoy drops his head, “I was just afraid that I wasn’t important enough to have him killing me by his own hands.”

With that grim note, Malfoy tucks himself on his bed and falls asleep. It takes a few hours before Harry can stop listening to Malfoy’s voice on his head and finally sleeps.

Malfoy is overall a very quiet person. But sometimes, Harry notices, he sings to himself. He starts off just humming a few songs, but then it develops and he is singing songs with full lyrics. He has a nice voice, Malfoy, a little lower than Harry would have thought, but it is nice to listen to. Always on key, Malfoy sings a few songs that Harry recognizes, a few tunes from the Weird Sisters that reminded him of Ginny at first – but then they didn’t. Malfoy makes those song his own. Harry even starts singing along after a while, and Malfoy looks puzzled at him. Harry shrugs, Malfoy shrugs back and they start singing together, their voices blending nicely as if they had always been meant to.

“Pick someone in the world to have dinner with.” Harry asks one day, realizing that he was missing their weird question time.

“Probably the lead singer for the Weird Sisters,” He answers. “I really want to know what he meant with _Magic Cannot Lie._ ” Harry smiles, “You?”

“I’d pick you.” Harry answers without a second thought, and Draco widens his eyes and looks away. He does that a lot, looking away – and Harry grunts. He didn’t realize what that could mean, he thinks that maybe Draco is thinking that Harry asked him on a date, but it wasn’t that. If he could choose anyone in the world to spend time with, he would choose Draco. He doesn’t know why.

A week passes without Malfoy saying a word to Harry, and Harry tries to be nice with little things – like picking up his quill before he asks for it, or bringing him some toast when he misses breakfast. Malfoy only nods at first, but after a few days, he starts thanking him properly.

It is Saturday night and they are both buried in books, the N.E.W.T. year is really exhausting. Harry keeps trying to find something to say, but his head feels empty and he always runs out of words when he stares at that silver-blonde head.

“There is this very complicated potion that lets you have the body of a 30 year old until you’re 90, and then you probably die...” Harry suddenly hears Malfoy’s voice saying. “And then there’s another one that lets you have the mind of a 30 year old. You cannot take both. Which one you take?”

“Which one _you_ take?” Harry asks back.

“The first one, obviously.” Malfoy answers and he almost smirks. “I would like to keep my body young, fresh and beautiful as it is, thank you very much.”

Harry laughs at Malfoy’s answer, because it really is so like him, and laughs at his almost smirk, and laughs at the fact that they are both seventeen and it’s a Saturday night – and they are both studying in their room, trying to find something to say. Malfoy just stares at him, confused.

“I’d choose the body too,” Harry says. “It’s more fitting for running or flying.”

“You plan to be _running_ when you’re 90 years old?”

“You know how I am, I always manage to get into trouble.” Draco raises his eyebrow and Harry sees the ghost of a smile lying on his lips.

Harry realizes that he and Malfoy have three things in common. First of all, they eat the crust of the bread before eating the whole bread, but Malfoy prefers strawberry jelly when Harry’s favourite one is blueberry. Malfoy is also better at Charms than Transfiguration, Harry notices how he goes through all his Transfiguration work at least twice but finishes his Charms papers quickly and doesn’t take a second glance at them. He likes the second The Weird Sister’s record better than the others, like Harry. His favourite song is the one that Harry used to like the least, though, but from hearing it with Malfoy’s voice so many times, Harry starts to like it a lot.

“Potter,” Malfoy says one day when it’s snowing. “I’m bored. It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“I was thinking how different my life would have been if I had been raised differently.” Harry says. “Do you think about that sometimes?”

“Maybe if I had been taught not to hate, this would have happened a long time ago.” Malfoy answers with a sad voice, gesturing that with “this” he meant the two of them. Harry nods.

“Tell me, Potter, what are you most grateful for?” Malfoy asks after a while.

“I think that I’m grateful for finding a home.”

“Me too.” Malfoy answers, and Harry doesn’t know what he is talking about, but decides not to ask.

It’s December and Malfoy is pacing the room. He goes to one side to the other, looking down, looking up, muttering something non-stop. After a while, it starts getting on Harry’s nerve and he asks Malfoy what the hell he is doing.

“I didn’t know you were here.” Malfoy says shyly.

“Well, this is my room.” Harry answers sarcastically.

“I guess you’d be somewhere else, with your _friends._ ”

“What are you talking about? I’m always here.” Harry rolls his eyes. None of his friends came back to Hogwarts – well, Hermione did but she did it last year. “Answer my question, Malfoy.”

“I’m practising” Malfoy sighs unhappily.

“For?” Harry is impatient.

“Talking to my parents through the Floo.” Malfoy looks to his feet, “It’s just something that I do.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but follows Malfoy’s gaze. He suddenly realizes that Malfoy is wearing bright blue socks with yellow stripes, and they call out even more attention because Malfoy is wearing all black. Like he always does.

“Cool socks.” Harry says.

“I like them.” Malfoy answers. “I have always liked colourful socks.”

“Why just socks?”

“When I was five, my father took me to clothe-shopping. He said he’d buy me some grown up robes and of course I was all excited, until we got there and he said that, from that day on, I’d only wear black. All day, every day. Like he did. So of course I got all upset and I complained to my mother.” He pauses and smiles to himself, “And she said that I could choose some really colourful socks if I wanted to, because my father would never see them and then he wouldn’t be bothered with that.”

Harry’s smile matches Malfoy’s when he raises his eyes, and Harry starts telling him about when Aunt Petunia made him wear a bright orange overall. It’s far too late at night when they go to bed, the Floo call forgotten, after swapping many stories, competing to see who had the most miserable childhood. Harry often wins, but he doesn’t have to thank his own parents to his misery when Malfoy does. So, in the end, it is really a tie.

Malfoy wakes Harry up in the middle of the night.

“Potter.” He hisses, “Potter!”

“What?” Harry answers half-asleep.

“I dreamed that I could turn invisible whenever I wanted to.” He grins.

“Is that your dream power or something?” Harry replies grumpily. “Because it’s really lame.”

Malfoy looks hurt.

“Sorry Potter, if it’s not everyone who can have a stupid Invisibility Cloak.” He says coldly and turns around on his bed. As Harry’s brain awakens, he jumps off the bed without thinking twice.

“Do you want to try it?” He says.

“Try what?” Malfoy sneers from his bed.

“The Invisibility Cloak.” Harry replies and he watches as Malfoy’s back twitches and flexes under his pyjama’s shirt. He then shakes his head, he wasn’t supposed to be noticing something like that.

“Would you really let me try your Invisibility Cloak?” Malfoy turns his head. His eyes look like hurricanes.

“Yes” Harry answers.

“Alone?” Malfoy asks and Harry catches his breath – he wasn’t expecting that.

“Yes,” He gulps when Malfoy eyebrows are rising. “I trust you.”

“Well, Potter.” Malfoy gets up at once. “That wasn’t your best idea but I won’t let you go back now.” He smirks and Harry goes over his trunk, unfolding the Invisibility Cloak that he hasn’t worn for so long. Malfoy grabs it with his eyes shining and he goes towards the door, he isn’t going to try the Cloak here, Harry notices.

“Potter?” He says after opening the door. “What is your dream power?”

“I used to want to be a metamorphomagus,” Harry remembers. “So people won’t recognize me sometimes.”

Malfoy narrows his eyes and leaves before saying another word, and Harry forgot to tell him that the Cloak belonged to his father and Malfoy better take care of it, but he realizes that he doesn’t have to. Of course he will.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your reviews and kudos, you're all to kind!  
> and here you go, with the second part. i'll try to post the last one soon ;)

It’s Christmas and they are opening their presents. Harry is grinning to himself at Ron and Hermione’s present when he looks up and Malfoy is looking puzzled at one of his presents (his pile is a lot taller than Harry’s). He bites his lip as he opens the silver package, and Harry is tense because that is _his_ present. Malfoy frowns when he looks at it, and then he smiles to himself and Harry feels weird when he looks at that smile – it seems rather too private, as if he was poking around on something that is completely inside Malfoy.

He looks away and they don’t talk during that day anymore, but Harry smiles when he sees that Malfoy has given him a present. A bright orange overall. There is no note, but Harry notices how Malfoy’s breath is uneven when he opens the package, and he knows it.

In the next day, Malfoy asks a question.

“Potter, you studied Divination, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but don’t remind me about that.”

“You learned how to read crystal balls?”

“Not really. Why?”

“What would you like to see in a crystal ball, if you could see anything? I mean, past, present, future, how things could have been…?”

“I would want to see how everything would have been if Voldemort didn’t exist.” Harry answers at once, “You?”

“Oh...” Malfoy looks down, “I would want to… see how the N.E.W.T.s are going to be. I mean, what they will ask.”

“Right.” Harry says, but he has a feeling that Malfoy is lying. He doesn’t say anything, however, and the hours pass uncomfortably, their silence thick.

“Actually,” Malfoy mutters “I’d like to see what would have happened if we had been friends since the beginning.” And he is gone before Harry can answer anything.

It’s almost midnight and Malfoy hasn’t returned, Harry is more worried than he should be so he decides to get his Marauder Map to try and find Malfoy. His well-trained eyes find his spot almost instantly, and Harry runs off towards the empty classroom Malfoy is currently hiding in.

When he arrives there, he sees that Malfoy hasn’t bothered to lock the door, and he is sleeping on the floor. He has transfigured something into a pillow and something else into a blanket but it’s not comfortable enough – and Harry knows how Malfoy likes his comfort.

“Malfoy!” Harry says, shaking him. “Malfoy...”

Malfoy blinks his eyes and looks terrified when his eyes focus and he realizes that Harry is the one shaking him.

“Tell me something you have dreamed of doing for a long time but have never done it.” Harry asks before Malfoy can say anything.

Malfoy mutters something.

“What?” Harry asks

He does it again.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“I SAID I HAD WANTED TO BE YOUR FRIEND, POTTER.” Malfoy yells and is about to storm off the classroom, but Harry grabs him by the wrist.

“Don’t run away, Malfoy.” Harry says and Malfoy doesn’t look at him “I am your friend.”

“Are you?” He replies sarcastically.

“Yes.” Harry answers, “You don’t need to be an idiot about it.”

“Well, maybe I am an idiot about everything.”

“Maybe you are,” Harry rolls his eyes and pulls Malfoy’s shoulders so it will be harder for him to run away again “But you don’t have to be one about this specifically.”

They walk towards their room in silence when Malfoy suddenly stops.

“What is it?” Harry asks impatiently.

“Tell me something you’ve had always dreamed of doing but never did.” He says.

“I don’t know, Malfoy.” Harry answers “I guess I’ve never had too much time for dreaming.”

And they are silent for the rest of the night.

“It’s your turn to ask a question, Malfoy.” Harry says in the next day when he is absolutely bored and Malfoy is reading.

“I asked you a question yesterday and you didn’t even reply.” Says Malfoy sharply.

“You didn’t ask me a question.” Harry rolls his eyes, “I asked you a question and then you asked me back, like we always do.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to these rules. I don’t remember agreeing to any rules, actually.”

“Fine.” Harry says impatiently. “What rules do you think we should have?”

“First rule is that we take turns when asking questions. That is obvious.”

“Right.”

“Second rule is that we should always both answer the question.”

“Fine.”

“Third rule is that when someone doesn’t answer the question, doesn’t even give it a second thought, the person is supposed to make the next question even if they were the one to ask the previous question.”

 “You little bastard.”

Malfoy’s laugh echoes through the room and it’s so alive and Harry cannot see his face because he is on the couch as Malfoy reads on his bed but it doesn’t matter – Harry can picture his face laughing and the tiny wrinkles that appeared around his eyes, and that dimple on his right cheek that Harry knew he would completely deny that it exists.

“Fine.” Harry says, half-laughing. “What friendship means to you?”

“I…” Malfoy stops laughing. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Harry asks after realizing that Malfoy wouldn’t say anything else. “What kind of answer is that?” Harry sits straight on the couch so he can see Malfoy clearly, but the boy is lying on his back and looking up, face blank.

“Answer first.” Malfoy closes his eyes, “Please.”

“Friendship was something that I always wanted, because Dudley didn’t let anyone be my friend. And when I finally got it, I couldn’t let go.” Harry answers “Friendship is like being a part of something. Something special. And you are at home with them, even if you are far away from home. Even if you don’t have one.”

“Friendship always meant people that had to laugh of my jokes and that were a bit afraid of me.” Malfoy says right after Harry finishes “It never felt enough.”

Harry deepens his gaze on Malfoy, but he doesn’t look back at Harry.

“Potter,” Malfoy continues “What is the most important thing on a friendship?”

“Having each other’s backs.” Harry answers “And for you?”

“Understanding.” He says “Companionship. Acceptance”

Harry smiles.

It’s the New Year’s Eve and they are in their room, Harry is telling Malfoy that they should try to steal a bit of wine from the kitchen and Malfoy argues that they probably don’t even have wine in the kitchen.

“Why would they? This is a school.” He says.

“A school with a lot of teachers that live here.” Harry argues, “I’m certain they have wine. Or firewhisky. Or gin. I have always wanted to prove gin.”

“You proved Gin-ny and you didn’t like it very much, did you?” Malfoy laughs.

“The problem was me,” Harry says “There was nothing wrong with her.”

“Though I disagree with the latter, Potter,” Malfoy smirks “I would agree that you were probably the problem. You usually are.”

And laughing again, Malfoy enters the bathroom to change. Harry guesses that it means they will actually steal food and wine from the kitchen, and smiles. Malfoy is different now. He is mean and horrible sometimes, but now it feels natural, not like he is setting up some competition, but like he is actually only joking. Harry likes Malfoy’s humour a lot more than he would dare to admit.

“I’m ready.” Malfoy says and when Harry turns around, Malfoy is wearing a red shirt. The red shirt that Harry got him for Christmas.

“You are wearing the…” Harry gapes

“Yes yes, Potter, I am.” Malfoy is impatient “Big deal. I figured that every New Year that I spent wearing black lead to a horrible year, so I decided to see if the problem was the colour.”

“In some cultures,” Harry says “The colour of your outfit represents what you’d like the New Year to bring you.”

“And what does red mean?”

“Love.”

“So,” Harry says, when they are sipping wine from the bottle in their room “What’s the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

Malfoy’s brows are furrowed, and he takes some time to answer.

“I think it’s surviving through the war.” He says, his voice heavy. “You?”

“I think… it’s not allowing more friends to die.” Harry breathed out “But I really wanted to say that it was winning the Quidditch Cup in the third year.”

Malfoy’s smile is small, and Harry knows he understands.

“What do you think of when you produce a Patronus?” Malfoy blurts out all of sudden.

“I know… I know they say you should think of a happy memory, but I don’t. Because happy memories aren’t moments, they are people, and feelings, and those things could never be flattened into a slice of time.” He replies “I always think of who I love.”

“I can’t produce a Patronus.” Malfoy answers, “But if I did, perhaps I’d think of –“

“Of?” Harry asks, but it isn’t after Malfoy took three big sips of wine that he answers.

“Perhaps I’d think of this. Us.” Harry’s eyes widen “Not because you are that special, Potter, but because this feels like… a second chance.”

And Harry understands.

“And if there was a reverse-Patronus, and you could had to pick your worst memory, which one would you pick?”

“I’ve got plenty of those.” Malfoy laughs, but his laugh is gloomier than anything else, “Probably my mom being tortured by Voldemort.”

“I’ve also got plenty of those.” Harry replies “But I think it would be Sirius dying. I thought he had make it, at first, he couldn’t be dead, and then when it dawned on me… I…” He shuts his eyes “He was… like a father figure. Something I had always wanted.”

He feels something on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to see that it’s Malfoy’s hand. His gaze is deep, understanding, accepting.

Harry likes Malfoy’s skin. The soft texture of it. It was warmer than he would have expected from someone with the cold demeanour that Malfoy has, but then again, so is everything else about him. He also loves his eyes, piercing, melting grey, that enveloped Harry as a whole. Malfoy is very smart, too, and he’s sharp in knowledge as he is when arguing with Harry – he’s impatient, and reckless, and explains everything a little too fast, information too scrambled, but Harry loves it because he can understand every single part of it. He loves Malfoy’s voice, it’s smooth when he wants to get what he wants, and hoarse when he doesn’t appear to care. Like the whole of Malfoy’s personality, it’s dual, everything about the boy seems to have two completely sides of it, but it all comes together in a way that makes sense. Harry loves how he gets Malfoy. After all those years of hating each other, all they needed was a shared room, and a truce, and suddenly- suddenly Harry was able to pick all the pieces of information he had collected about Malfoy through the years and place them together. He really likes how they look placed together.

“When Voldemort told me to kill Dumbledore,” Malfoy says “He gave me one year to do it. He said he was being merciful. I didn’t agree.” He takes one more sip of the bottle, seeming very tipsy now “I, in my complete panic, imagined I had one year left to live only, and I could either enjoy it as I wanted, or try to dread it, by attempting to kill Dumbledore. He spared me in the end, obviously. But during that year, I couldn’t stop thinking of what I would have done if I had chosen just to enjoy it thoroughly.”

“What would you have done?” Harry asks.

“Perhaps you should answer that first.” Malfoy winks.

“I don’t know.” Harry says “I think I’d try to be with my friends as much as possible. I’d travel the world. I’d play Quidditch and I’d go to a Weird Sister’s concert –“ _With you_ , he adds in his thoughts, but he thinks it’s obvious. He cannot see himself doing those things without Malfoy, not now anymore.

“I guess I’d write a book.” Malfoy says “And I’d go to somewhere warm. Perhaps Greece.”

“And affection? And love? Where do they fit in there?” Harry asks, but the truth is, he wants Malfoy to say where he fits in there, and where he fits anywhere in his life.

“They are important.” Malfoy says, and Harry doesn’t feel the need to answer back, he agrees.

Harry realizes that he hadn’t answered the previous question, so he decides to ask one more.

“How is your relationship with your mom?” Malfoy seems startled by it.

“It’s…” He starts, eyeing Harry suspiciously. “It’s good, she… she loves me, and I’d do anything for her and she… would protect me from anything.”

“She really cares about you. She lied to Voldemort like that and…” Harry says, but he thinks he is being obvious. Of course that his mother cares about him. It’s his _mother_ , but Harry has nothing to compare to, because he hasn’t got a mother.

“My family is pretty close.” Malfoy says, trying to catch Harry’s eyes again “I think I had a really happy childhood.”

“Until your dad made you wear only black clothes.” Harry replies, and Malfoy smiles, and he smiles back, and they are perhaps a little drunk, and it’s almost midnight so they get up to look through the window.

“What do you wish for next year?” Harry asks him.

“I want to start over. To have a new chance.” He replies, “I’d like to stop being Malfoy and just be… Draco.” Harry nods. Then, midnight strikes, and nothing changes, it’s just another day like any other, but Harry cannot bring himself to really believe that.

“Happy new year, Draco.” He says, and Draco’s eyes are kind.

“Happy new year, Harry.”


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so ridiculously sorry for taking so long to post this. i wrote this over an year ago and completely forgot about it! but i see that people are still interested in reading it, so i decided to finally post the last part. hope you all like it!

Draco and Harry are both in their room, only one half bottle of wine left, and they are both ridiculously drunk. They are sharing a blanket, sitting with their backs turned to each other, enjoying the warmth of each other bodies.

“So, Harry” Draco says, his voice dragged “If we’re gonna be friends now, I think you should tell me something that it is important to me to know. Like, your biggest secret. Something that only a _close friend_ would know”

“Um” Harry replies, and then he remembers something “Well, I used to have a crush on Cedric Diggory” Harry admits, pretty sure it’s the wine’s fault. He had never told that to anyone else, not even to Ron and Hermione.

“Really?” Malfoy laughs

“It was during the 4th year. Everything was a mess in my head, I didn’t know if I was jealous of him or of Cho, but in the end I figured out”

“Really? That’s why you didn’t work out then. And you and the Weasley girl, that was why you didn’t work out? Because you like blokes?” Harry can feel how tense Draco’s back is.

“No, I really liked Ginny. Gender isn’t a problem for me” Harry shrugs “But, after the war, everything was too different. I was too different, and she was too different. Everything was too scrambled, and I love her, but… not like that anymore. During the brief time when we dated, it was like there was no Voldemort, and no war, she was a silver lining. We couldn’t last. If there had never been Voldemort, we’d be right for each other. But we aren’t”

Draco is silent.

“Was that an official question?” Harry asks after a while “Because if it was, then you should answer”

“Which question? If I like blokes?” Draco replies.

“If you want, but also your biggest secret.”

“It’s not my biggest secret that I like blokes.” Draco laughs, “Maybe my biggest secret is that… Ok, Potter, let’s play a game, alright?” Harry feels that Draco has turned around to face him, and he decides to do the same, the blanket on their laps now.

“What game?” Harry asks, frowning.

“I’ll tell you three lies and one truth. The truth is my biggest secret.”

“Fine.”

“One: I have never fallen in love. Two: I have fallen in love before, but I have gotten over it. Three: I think I might be in love right now.” His eyes are glistening, he looks a bit mad. Harry doesn’t know what to say.

“Do I have to guess?” Harry gulps.

“You don’t have to do it now.” Draco answers, “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“What do you like about yourself the most?” Harry asks.

“I like my hair, my sense of humour and my socks.” Draco answers quickly. Harry isn’t sure if he’s being completely honest.

“I like my eyes, because they are what I have from my mother, my Patronus, because of my father and… I guess I like my Quidditch skills.” Harry answers, and Draco still has that mad look glistening inside his eyes.

“What do you like about me, Potter?” Is what Draco asks, and Harry is taken aback, he doesn’t know what to say.

“I like your sense of humour, your socks and your hair.” Harry answers when he makes up his mind.

“Are you kidding me?” Draco starts, grimacing, but Harry cuts him off.

“I like your sense of humour. You’re dead funny when you aren’t mean –“

“I’m always mean, Harry.” Draco sniggers.

“Yeah, but when you aren’t _too_ mean, when you’re only joking, your jokes are the funniest I have ever heard.” Harry says, “I like your socks too, because they are colourful, opposed to the rest of your black clothes. I think you should wear more colours. It suits you…” Harry sees a faint smile on his lips “And you hair…”

“I know my hair is great, and you can only envy it seeing as you have that untamed mop on your own head…”

“Shut up.” Harry says, “I like it because it appears to be hard and stiff, but when you touch it,” Harry stretches out his hand and touches Draco’s hair. “It’s soft. It’s a bit like you, actually.”

They get closer, and they are too drunk, and then Draco make’s a small, whimpering sound. He rests his head on the crook of Harry’s neck, Harry lays back, the blanket is tangled between their legs, and they fall asleep.

Harry wakes up in the next day with his head throbbing and Draco’s head on his chest, his hand gripping the fabric of his shirt. The sun probably has just risen, their window is open and it is very cold inside their room, the fire has gone out. Careful not to disturb Draco, Harry grabs his wand and closes the window, the curtains, and turns the fire back on. With his mind half-asleep already, he snuggles closer to Draco, not finding his touch foreign or strange, and before he can think, his lids are shut and he has fallen asleep once again.

“You haven’t answered your own question yesterday, Draco.” Harry reminds him in the next day when they are eating a very late breakfast.

“What question?”

“You asked me what I liked the most about you.” Harry says.

“Now I have to say what I like the most about myself?” He smirks, raising his chin.

“I have asked you that, you git.”

“Oh, so I have to say what I like the most about you?”

“Yes.” Harry says, but he feels like he is fishing compliments, when he is actually curious. Probably.

“Don’t you have your own fan club for that kind of question?” Draco says, irritated.

“Your opinion matters more.” Harry replies, his gaze on Draco is hard but he can feel that the other boy is ridiculously uncomfortable.

“This isn’t fair!” He whines “You got to answer that when you were drunk, now I’m here, hangover and I can’t think…”

“Fine.” Harry says and by the tone of his voice it’s obvious that he doesn’t think it’s fine at all, he understands but he feels irritated either way and before he can think, he leaves Draco eating breakfast by himself, and goes outside to catch some air.

He sits under his favourite tree, where he, Ron and Hermione used to come during sunny evenings to study. Well, who did the studying was mostly Hermione. Harry looks over at the surface of the lake, he can’t figure out why he had left Draco by himself, but there’s something full of anger inside of him. He can’t help but to feel that Draco is somehow fooling him, it’s like he had answered far more questions about Draco, as if he had been way more honest with Draco than he was to him.

He hears a shuffling behind him and turns around to find Draco facing him. He looks oddly fidgety, his eyes are wide but staring at Harry.

“What I like the most about you is that you’re not who I thought you were. You’re exactly the way I feared you were. You are kind, and sarcastic, and compassionate. You’re brave. You don’t brag, you’re humble. You’re funny. You pay attention and you care. And I hate that about you, too. Because ever since you didn’t want to be my friend I tried to convince myself that there was something wrong about you, but now I realize that you didn’t want to be my friend because there’s something wrong about me.” He says very quickly, without taking his eyes off Harry. He notices Draco’s hands are trembling. Harry isn’t sure of what to say.

“Come sit here with me.” He mumbles, still unsure. When Draco does, his hands are still trembling and Harry decides to put his hands around them to make them stop. “You’re my friend now.” he finally says.

“I like to hear that.” Draco says, his eyes sparkling. Harry smiles. “Now, this touching honest moment is over.” He adds sharply, and Harry lets go of his hand.

“It’s my turn now?” Harry asks.

“Yes, but please don’t ask anything that makes me have to deal with feelings.”

“Right,” Harry snorts, “Tell me an embarrassing moment of your life.”

 “When I was 12, my parents took me to holidays in France. We stayed in a small wizarding hotel, very expensive, important wizards everywhere. They were holding some activities for the children, and there was some sort of picnic. I was hungry and tired of my father taking me to every single meeting with important, rich wizards. So I went to the picnic, and when I got there a cheerful woman greeted me, she was surrounded by little kids. I was the older kid, and she probably hoped that I would help her taking care of the children. I smiled politely, but when she went to get the picnic basket, I ran away.” He chuckles. “I thought I was free. Found my mother, and then we heard her magnified voice throughout the whole hotel ‘Draco Malfoy, we are waiting for you to go to the Picnic’. My father was so mad.”

“Did you go to the picnic in the end?” Harry asks, laughing.

“Like hell.” Draco sniggers. “Just to spite her.”

They look over to the lake, silently. 

“You should answer the question, Potter.” Draco says after a while.

“I have told you already the orange overall story, I don’t think anything gets more embarrassing than that.” Harry replies. “I’ll ask you another question.”

“Fine.” Draco turns his grey eyes to Harry once again, and even though their colour is cold, sharp and reminds Harry of icebergs, there’s a foreign warmth on them.

“Is there’s anything that’s too serious in the world, something you wouldn’t joke about?”

“The war.” Draco responds grimly.

“Yes…” Harry says. “But I long for the day when it will be okay.” They don’t say anything else, just stay there, the warm winter sun tickling their faces.

“We should go.” Draco says, getting up. He absent-mindedly stretches out a hand to Harry, who takes it without a second thought. They walk to lunch side-by-side and without saying another word.

It’s already night time when Draco asks Harry another question.

“If Hogwarts caught fire, and you could already get everyone you loved out, but had to pick only one object to take with you, what would you pick? Your wand doesn’t count.”

“I’d take the album that Hagrid gave me, with pictures of my parents.” He answers.

“I thought you’d take me! I’m offended, Potter!” Draco says, with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you said everyone I loved was already out?” Harry blurts out without thinking, Draco stares at him wide-eyed.

“Touching, Potter.” He adds half-sarcastically.

“Er…” Harry mutters. “Answer the question”.

“I’d take my grandfather’s ring.” Draco answers, looking at the ring with a black stone lying on his bedside table. “He left it to me when he died, it was his favourite belonging.”

Harry hums something in return and they don’t talk for a while, the only thing they could hear was the crackling noise coming from the lit up fireplace. He is almost asleep when he hears Draco’s voice calling him.

“Harry.” He says softly. “Harry!”

“What?” Harry mumbles back, tuning his eyes to Draco, who is completely unfocused. His glasses had fallen down on his robe, he picks them up and looks at the other boy intensively.

“How can you do that?” He asks, looking down.

“Do what? Sleep?” Harry yawns.

“How can you be so honest about what you feel?” His voice is a bit shaky.

“I… I don’t know.” Harry answers. “I’m usually not. It’s just that I’m not embarrassed. Some feelings I don’t want to hide.”

“It’s hard.” Draco says, and all Harry can do is nod back at him.

When Harry wakes up in the next morning, he finds Draco’s bed empty. Their room is cold, the window is left open, and there is an envelope ripped apart on Draco’s bed. Harry picks it up and reads that it’s from Draco’s mother – but the letter is nowhere to be seen.

Worried, Harry gets the Marauder’s Map to try and find Draco. He’s in the top of the West Tower, Harry flees their room without bothering to close the window. When he gets there, Draco’s back is turned to him, shaking. He can hear sobs echoing through the walls.

“Draco…” He says cautiously. The other boy turns around, his eyes puffy and red, his hand clutching a piece of parchment. “What happened?”

“They –“ He says “They took my father.”

“Took him where?” Harry asks, getting closer to him.

“Azkaban.” He breathes out, reaching out to Harry. He rests his head on the crook of Harry’s neck, he can feel Draco’s warm tears on his skin, and wraps his arms around his shaking body. He’s still holding the letter with one hand, the other clutching desperately on the fabric of Harry’s shirt. “Harry, he will stay there forever. It’s life imprisonment, and this time The Dark L– I mean, You-Know-Who isn’t alive, so there’s no hope for him ever getting out…”

“Draco, I am so sorry.” Harry whispers, and the truth is that he never liked Lucius, but he is Draco’s father, and Draco is crying, so why wouldn’t he care? “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Potter, there isn’t anything The Boy Who Lived can do.” Draco replies coldly, getting his head up to stare at him. “You never liked him, my father.”

“You’re right.” Harry says, loosening his grip, but doesn’t let Draco go. “But you’re  sad about it, so I care.”

“Why?” He asks, his voice breaking. “Why do you care about me?”

“Because…” Harry starts, but it seems so hard to say it, even though it’s true. Draco is so close, his eyes filled with tears, his thin body shaking, and Harry knows it. “Because _I love you_.”

That’s when Draco kisses him. His fingers gripping tightly on Harry’s shirt again, Harry brings him closer, their tongues meet, he can feel Draco’s tears on his cheek, and they are somewhere else. Yes, there is pain there. They still have the scars of a war they were too young to enter, they still have a past weighing on them, but that doesn’t seem to matter. They are together, and this is what matters. Having each other is what matters.

Draco pulls apart.

“Harry.” He says. “If anything were to ever happen to me I don’t want you to not know something.”

“What?” Harry asks, his breath uneven.

“I am in love with you.” Draco says. “I love you and I have probably always loved you, I just needed something to turn that switch on. I love you and I feel ridiculous saying that, I don’t like feelings, but I can’t escape this one. So I might as well just say it.”

Harry unwraps his arms from Draco’s shoulders, and uses his hands to wipe the tears from Draco’s eyes. They look at each other, and Harry’s eyes are met with cold grey eyes, framed by sharp light eyebrows. Draco’s nose is too angled, so is his chin and cheekbones. He looks too sharp, too angry, cold and distant. But he isn’t. He is so close, and Harry’s eyes can see how Draco’s features can be softened when you realize that Draco isn’t like that at all. He has a soft smile, and you can see his eyes sparking. Just like the sun coming out of the clouds after a storm.

“You shouldn’t try to escape your feelings.” He says. “They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

He takes Draco by the hand back to their room. It’s cold inside, he had forgotten the window open. He closes it and goes towards the fireplace to lighten it, and when he turns his back he sees that Draco joined their beds together. He meets a smirk on Draco’s face and sits by his side, under the blankets. He feels warm hands finding his, Draco gets closer, resting his head on Harry’s chest.

“I just don’t know how I’ll deal with him being there, forever.” Draco admits after a while. “And my mother, alone.”

“She won’t be alone.” Harry says. “She will have you. And you will have me. You’ll figure it out.”

Draco breathes in and out quietly.

“Say what you like about the moment we’re in right now.” He asks Harry, turning his head to face him.

“We are here. We are together. We are home.” Harry answers.

“We are alive. We are free. We are loved.” Draco replies.

Their lips meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, it's finally complete! thanks for waiting this long, and i hope you all liked it. kudos and comments are always appreciated <3 
> 
> rereading this made me really miss writing drarry, so i might post something new really soon 8)

**Author's Note:**

> please leave your kudos and comments! they are reaaaaaaaaally appreciated <3


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